


into the evening pale

by lisewrites



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Road Trip, bed sharing, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisewrites/pseuds/lisewrites
Summary: Sometimes, great love stories are not set in the backstreets of fair Verona. Nor are they set in-between the shattered lights of a midwinter New York.





	into the evening pale

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [French_Cosima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/French_Cosima) because BIRTHDAY and also because I wanted to write it. I’m working on some new stuff, which I’ll post at some point in the vague future. But in the meantime, I made a tumblr, if anyone would like to request anything? It’s [here](https://lise-writes.tumblr.com). Follow me and I’ll post nudes or some shit idk.
> 
> I’ve written something very similar to this before. But. Road-trip AU? Nobody asked for this?? But I enjoyed writing it??? (Also I’m gay and I’m drunk rn and I can’t drive and I didn’t spell-check this, don’t drag me.)  
> This is my favourite trope. A second part maybe?

Sometimes, great love stories are not set in the backstreets of fair Verona. Nor are they set in-between the shattered lights of a midwinter New York.  
And tonight, the darkness of the desert may never end.  
The skyline hesitantly flatlines, and the open road stretches on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and off.  
And Lena’s eyes begin to blur as she loses focus.  
She keeps her foot on the gas. The night slips away, and the early hours of the morning cling to the drooping corners of her tired eyes. Heavyweight.  
Kara has been sleeping for hours, in the plush leather passenger seat of Lena’s Aston Martin. Oddly foreign under this Nebraska sky. A billionaire, European engineering, and a girl from outer space. An odd fantasy. An odd combination. Yet earlier, they’d sang along to Britney Spears and watched the sun drip down under the horizon. And Lena’s palms had definitely not itched to hold Kara’s hand across the centre console, as Kara had tipped her head back, laughing.  
Now, her blonde hair is tousled. Floating across her sleep-drenched skin. Chin lolling softly against her chest.  
God.  
God.  
And all of the lights of the city beam back from the rearview mirror. Distantly.  
Shimmering.

Lena grips the steering wheel a little harder. Her knuckles white. As white as the headlights trailing over the road ahead of her. Whiter maybe. The music is turned down to a dim hum, tuning in and out of Lena’s consciousness.  
She becomes aware, vaguely, that this is dangerous.  
Her slowing pulse feels risky.  
And the highway will almost certainly last until morning.

There’s something pinkish on the horizon. Dripping alone the skyline.  
She blinks, forcing herself to focus.  
The neon lights of a motel cut through the darkness. Pooling glowing pink across the road. The word “Vacancies” has never made Lena’s heart skip a beat before. But now, tonight, the reflection of the letters curls across her chest.  
She exhales, for the first time in eight and a half hours.  
The Aston Martin’s engine dims to a dulled pur.  
And she pulls in to the car park.  
She kills the engine.  
Because Lena Luthor has nearly eight billion dollars in her personal bank account. She is twenty-four and a half years old. And the soft glow of neon lights flicker, ghosting over her sleeping best friend’s face.  
Best Friend.  
Capitalised.  
Best.  
Friend.

Everything shifts.  
And Kara’s eyes flicker open.  
The neon glow collects in the corners of her eyes.  
Heavily, as she blinks.  
“Where are we Lee?”  
God, there’s something rough around the edges of her voice.  
Kara’s rubbing at her eyes, blinking in this new colour of light. And Lena’s heart fumbles and trips. Falls, over and over and over again.  
“Can we stop for a couple of hours?” she asks, and Kara’s looking around the motel forecourt and nodding.  
“Of course, or I can drive if you’d rather?”  
Selfless, soft Kara. Eyes barely clear, already offering to help.  
Her heart definitely doesn’t backflip.  
Because Kara is definitely her best friend.  
Just her best friend.

“No, let’s both sleep for a couple of hours, .”  
“Are we going to be late for the meeting?”  
Oh.  
Oh yeah.  
The meeting.  
The meeting she absolutely could not fly to.  
The meeting she absolutely must drive to, the meeting that Kara must accompany her to, the meeting that was not at all a thinly veiled excuse to spend a long weekend in a car with her crush.  
Her best friend.  
Her crush.  
Her…

“We’ve got plenty of time, don’t worry about it. I think we’re both tired.”  
As though to prove her point, Kara suppresses a long yawn, and nods sleepily. “You’re right, I’d love a proper bed right now.” 

Kara swings open the car door, and trails across the gravel towards the tilted ‘open’ sign in a dusty window.  
And Lena?  
She has nearly eight billion dollars in a bank account, and she’s kicking at the irregular shaped rocks in sneakers she’s borrowed from Kara, as she follows her across the dimly lit forecourt. 

 

*******

Her hands weren’t shaking.  
They weren’t.  
Shaking.  
She had just grabbed whatever money she has in her wallet, and slid it across the coffee-stained counter.  
“Lena, it was thirty bucks! ”  
Her mortification still burnt, but Kara’s giggles doused it with pinkish foam. Until it merely glowed dully, directly behind her heart, as they climbed the stairs to their bedroom.  
Room 48. She was glowing. Her lungs were glowing. Because Kara, Kara thought her inadequacies were hilarious. Kara thought her awkwardness was beautiful.  
“You gave him a thousand dollars Lena!”  
And as she blinks, she still sees the wide, almost empty eyes of the elderly man in the reception, blinking as she handed him eight hundred dollars in cash.  
And Kara is laughing.  
Not in a cold, empty way.  
But softly, warmly.  
Her laughter was as warm and open as a close night in the middle of the Nebraska desert.  
Lena glows. Stuttering, shaking.  
But glowing.

She grips the heavy key in her hot palm. Room number forty-eight.  
She unlocks the motel door.  
Cheap, plastic-y wood sticking uncomfortably to the doorframe as she pulls it open. The room is dark, only a thin strip of hideously patterned carpet dimly illuminated by the flickering neon signs.  
And yet immediately, simultaneously, there are three things.  
A head on collision.  
Three things crashing together, colliding right at the front of Lena’s skull. 

A double bed.  
A a girl called Kara Danvers.  
And this, this highway?  
It will almost certainly last until morning.


End file.
